


Mando'ika ad (the littlest Mandalorian)

by kesomon



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Baby Yoda: Tiniest Mando, Crack, Empathy, Fluff and Angst, Force-Sensitive Finn (Star Wars), Gen, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Jedi Rey (Star Wars), Mandalorian, Telepathy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2020-03-02
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:55:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 6,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21927055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kesomon/pseuds/kesomon
Summary: "You're a Mandalorian? But you're just a kid!"“I am 70 years old, I am!” the kid protested. Poe arched an eyebrow down at him, who barely reached Rey's knees.He scowled back, and in true Mandalorian stubbornness, attempted to kick him in the shin.(Now a collection of BBY!Mando ficlets with loose interconnection.)1/4 - Two chapters in one day, don't skip![Note: NOT TAGGING for Rise Spoilers because every detail in this fic at one point or another was a fandom canon. If you've seen the movie and recognize something as Actual Canon now, YAY.]
Relationships: Poe Dameron & Finn & Rey
Comments: 146
Kudos: 1117





	1. Mando'ika ad (The littlest Mandalorian)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CoffeeQuill](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CoffeeQuill/gifts), [LadyIrina](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyIrina/gifts), [blackglass](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackglass/gifts).



> A set of semi-interconnected ficlets about Baby Yoda: Tiniest Mandalorian, intially stemming from a want to have him interact with the New Trio, and spurred further by an ongoing fluff v angst battle with CoffeeQuill. Without their prodding it would probably not be longer than two chapters, so thanks!
> 
> Free to adopt any ficlet or idea for expansion!
> 
> As of 12/29 I've gone back through and reworked the chapters into individual standalones with proper titles. They are in no way in a chronological order.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rey & Co are in over their heads when they receive unexpected help from a very unexpected source.
> 
> _"You're a Mandalorian? But you're just a kid!"  
>  “I am 70 years old, I am!” the kid protested. Poe arched an eyebrow down at him, who barely reached Rey's knees.  
> He scowled back, and in true Mandalorian stubbornness, attempted to kick him in the shin._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> all I want out of life and the end of The Mandalorian is Baby Yoda: Tiniest Mando. Then I decided what I wanted MORE out of life is Rey & Co meeting BY:TM post-Rise of Skywalker. So here: HAVE THAT.
> 
> Mando'a translations in the end notes! Also, bonus points to anyone who realises the significance of the armor colors I picked, before I explain them also in the end notes. <3
> 
> For the kid's voice, I wanted to do something species-familiar, age-appropriate, and yet different, so I tried to do a Yoda'esk cadence, Mando'a speckled in, with a kid's feel to the word choices.
> 
> Also I don't subscribe to the 'never let them see your face' bit of the Mandalorian's Canon, as it doesn't match up with Clone Wars canon. Lets say that's been dropped from their doctrine in the last 20 years passed since the show-period.
> 
> NOW FEATURES A PODFIC OF CHAPTER ONE GO LISTEN TO IT IT IS BESSSSST 

Rey had to admit, the operation was going less than smoothly. Their goal of breaking the defenses on a re-purposed Imperial base, as part of the cleanup of the First Order’s mess, had been met by the old Imperial security system - namely, droids, who didn’t know the Empire had fallen, and didn’t have the logic circuits to care.

A sharp, shrill cry of ‘ _Oya!!_ ’, and suddenly _something_ dropped into the fray like a cannon round. From there, it was nothing a fast blur of motion, a small life-form ping-ponging off post-Imperial droid helms like a stray laser bolt and just as destructive. Rey, with her Force-enhanced senses, caught the impression of sharp talons and determined focus as droids fell apart around her, joints twisted and wires clawed free of their circuits, taser charges overloading processor nets and the staccato bark of a close-range shooter leaving smoking weld-holes in vital casings.

What was more, the Force swirled tight around the figure, in a way Rey was not used to feeling from an outside source. Despite the whirling dervish and the chaos of the fight, not a single blaster bolt went astray.

Between their new friend’s dexterity, Finn and Poe’s combined firepower and deadly aim, and Rey’s lightsaber a golden blaze of whirling destruction, the formerly lagging battle had been quick to end.

Now the humans got a good look at their unexpected ally, crouched as they were over the parts of an advanced IG model, and picking through circuitry with interest, and found themselves collectively surprised.

The small fighter was wearing what looked like a tiny suit of armor that Poe, the only properly-educated galactic historian of their group, swore looked like old Clone armor, down to the not-quite-Stormtrooper design of the visored bucket. Only...well, _shrunk_.

It was definitely not the standard white plastoid material one found in Stormtroopers, either; instead it was painted with red and blue, touches of scarlet and yellow in the details, and well-used. Beneath the occasional scrape of chipped paint, the unknown alloy glinted silver.

To Finn, who had a moderate sense of the Force - and to Rey, who had a great deal more - the being _shone_ in the Force like a self-contained atomic reactor.

Sensing their curiosity, the fighter had looked up, and then rose to their full height quite abruptly. They cocked their helmeted head at Rey, darted forward until they were standing before the Jedi. _Presence_ brushed her shielding, and then the being raised their taloned hands to unbolt the environment seals and remove their bucket.

Underneath was the wrinkled baby-face of a species Rey had never met but which seemed oddly familiar, large green ears and soft, mossy-brown hair. Wide, dark eyes fell on the lightsaber, now deactivated, in the human’s hand. From there, his gaze darted up to her face, searching.

A moment passed, and the being blinked, before exclaiming in a prepubescent soprano, “ _Osy’kir,_ you’re _jetii!_ ”

Rey blinked. “I am,” she affirmed, though surprised to be recognised as such. Jedi were, in effect, still extinct to the galaxy at large. “And who are you?”

“ _Mando’ade,_ ” the kid chirped, full of pride. “ _Oya!_ ”

“Wait, _mando_?” Poe gaped. “Kriff, you’re a Mandalorian?”

“Is what I just said,” the apparently Mandalorian kid grunted, eyeing Poe like he was stupid.

“What’s a Mandalorian?” Finn asked, bewildered.

“I only ever heard stories from General Organa,” Poe explained, not very well. “They were victims to one of the Emperor's Great Purges. I had no idea they still existed. Supposedly, the best warriors and bounty hunters in the galaxy.” He eyed the diminutive, clearly _young_ being with a frown. “But you’re just a _kid_.”

“I am 70 years old, I am!” the kid protested. Poe arched an eyebrow down at him, who barely reached Rey's knees.

He scowled back, and in true Mandalorian stubbornness, attempted to kick him in the shin. _“Copaani mirshmure'cye, di’kut._ ”

“Some species do age slower,” Rey noted with a touch of humor, as Poe dodged the metal-toed kick with an undignified squawk. Finn chuckled, holstered his blaster, and knelt to offer the little warrior a hand.

“Thanks, little guy. We owe you one, I guess?”

The being puffed up proudly and shook Finn's hand, clasping only three of the human's fingers to do so. “Was a good _haa’it’roya_ , it was. I saw, I helped. _Buir_ will be proud. I take you to meet him, yes. Come! Come!” He pulled his bucket back on and darted away, pausing only to examine a decapitated droid head, kick it in the temple, and then reach in to remove a component. He examined it with satisfaction, then dashed ahead again, stopping only to look back at the humans in expectation.

Rey shared a glance with her friends and Finn gave a shrug. “Seems harmless enough?”

“Harmless?” Poe snorted, eyeing the technological carnage of their battleground. “Trust me, Finn; if the stories the General told me are true, then that’s a word you _never_ use with a Mandalorian.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mando'a Translations  
> \-----------------------  
> Oya - many meanings, a positive/triumphant exclamation.  
> Osy'kir - an exclamation of surprise or dismay  
> jetii - jedi, singular  
> Mando'ade - of the children of Mandalore  
> Copaani mirshmure'cye, di'kut - 'are you looking for a smack in the face, idiot?' (I just love this phrase so much)  
> haa'it'roya - mashing of 'haa'it', vision, and 'roya,' hunt, so 'vision-hunt'; best translation for 'following a Force vision'.  
> Buir - parent
> 
> Armor color choices were based on wikipedia, both canon and fanon:  
> Red - honoring a parent (for the Mando who Found him)  
> Blue - reliability  
> Scarlet - defiance (against those who hunted him as a child)  
> Yellow - remembrance (for those lost protecting him)
> 
> Don't worry though, the Mando is alive and kicking butt still.


	2. Oya Manda (together we are Mandalore)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Culture clash between a former stormtrooper in need of personal identity, and those who follow a creed valuing unity above all else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't going to write more of this but gosh darn it then I realised what a little shit the tiniest mando is and how Finn-the-former-stormtrooper who was so pleased to be Named would be somewhat distraught at learning there's an entire civilisation where each individual as a whole is ever only known as 'the Mandalorian' to anyone outside the tribe if they are spotted in public.
> 
> Bonus points for borrowing LadyIrina's OC Corin, also a former Stormtrooper, whose presence has somewhat infected the whole of the Mandalorian fanfic section. Though, not knowing what her plans are for the OC's relationship with Din, I left mine ambiguous as to what they mean to each-other, be it brothers or lovers. I needed a third party and have no excuse.

“What’s your dad’s name, anyway?”

“ _Buir_!”

“No, his _name._ Like, I’m Finn, he’s Poe, she’s Rey, your dad is…”

“ _Mando’ade!”_

“No, not _what,_ who!”

“ _Kovut shupur’yc di’kut!_ ”

“What did you just call me?!”

“Finn, you didn’t get a word of that.”

“I know enough to understand insulting!”

The kid blew an audible raspberry. His expression was hidden by the faceless shield of his bucket visor, but Din recognised the cant of his helm as an _ad’ika_ at his most mischievous. He’d been running verbal circles around this Finn kid since they’d been escorted into camp.

The looks on their faces as the kid had cried out “ _Buir! Buir! Ni mar’eyir haat’it’roya be'jetii!_ ” - and then proceeded to use a tree stump, the edge of a fold-away table, and Din's own pauldron to bounce-climb up and cling to Din’s helmet like a Kowakian monkey-lizard - had been _deliciously_ scandalized. Din had merely tipped his head in their direction, fighting laughter behind his helm, and controlled his humor enough to question the kid in Mando’a, “ _[Using a possessive for a Jedi?]_ ”

The kid had warbled at him in his not-quite language of bliss and then proceeded to give Din a minor heart attack by regaling him of the complete story of how he’d taken on 20 Imperial security bots by flinging himself into the reach of three strangers armed with blasters and one _Manda-forsaken lightsaber._ Oh, and he’d brought back parts for Corin- _buir’s_ latest tech tinkering, weren’t they neat?

Din, fortunately, had about twenty or so years of experience faking stoic in the face of crazy. It was his curse for claiming the kid as _Ni kyr’tayl gai sa’ad._

Perhaps even better was when their visitors had introduced themselves, and asked his name. Din, complete with a preceding, long, deadpan silence, had simply said, “Mandalorian.”

And then watched as the kid parroted Din with the exact same infliction, when asked _his_ identity.

At that point Finn’s brain had broken a little, the former Stormtrooper unable to understand, when all he’d ever once wished for was an _identity_ , how anyone could _choose_ to just...not be _named_ as more than part of The Way.

That was when his _ad'ika_ had started arguing.

Din almost felt his pride would burst with how hot it welled behind his chestplate.

In full armor save his bracers, which were being 'improved upon', Corin sidled up at Din’s right hand, bucket turned the same direction the elder Mandalorian was looking, and chuckled shortly. _“[You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?]”_

 _“[This is getting holocalled to the entire covert,]”_ Din informed him in a low tone, inclining his helm just briefly. “ _[I’ll put him out of his misery eventually. This is The Way.]_ ” He let his amusement slip heavy into the familiar litany, grin concealed behind his mask.

Corin turned a cough of laughter into a cleared throat and stepped forward to fetch the scavenged scrap from their _ad’ika’s_ person.

On his approach, Finn’s head whipped around and the younger man’s eyes widened with a touch of desperation.

“ _You_ have a name, right?”

Corin paused, and glanced briefly back at Din, who hadn’t moved a muscle - a calculated choice, Corin realised, to keep from succumbing to laughter. Then Corin shrugged, helm dipping in a nod. “Sure I do, kid.“

And left it at that.

The silence lingered.

Din's shoulders trembled beneath his _beskar'gam_ in silent hysterics.

Over Finn’s shoulder, his friends were already shaking their heads in anticipation.

“I’m Mandalorian.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mando'a Translations  
> \------------------------  
> Just doing the new translations, not what's already been covered.
> 
> Kovut-shupur'yc di'kut - head-injured idiot  
> Ni mar'eyir haa'it'roya be'jetii- I found my jedi I was vision-hunting for. be' is possessive.  
> Ni kyr'tayl gai sa'ad - vow of adoption.


	3. Bajir vi Tome (Together we teach)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Din is not a teacher, but, by Creed, he must learn to be, if the kid is his charge. Paz is...unhelpful in this respect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kid comes by his swearing honestly.
> 
> Buir - pronounced Boo-eer - means parent.  
> Ba'vodu - Bah-vod-oo - means uncle.  
> Besom - Bee-sohm - means ill-mannered lout.
> 
> kid trying to learn Mando'a: priceless.

Din Djarin had been many things in his life. Bounty hunter. Tracker. Warrior. Orphan to Foundling. And now a foundling-carer, to his great mystification, but he was getting the hang of that in spurts.

He was not and had never been a _teacher._

"I'm not cut out for this," he sighed, for perhaps the fifth time that day, and held up the flash cards again. Prepared or not, if he was claiming this kid as his own, it was his responsibility to teach him The Way. This was the task set to him by the matriarch, upon his presentation of the kid to the covert as _Manda_ _sa'ad. First step, language._ _How hard could it be?_

Apparently, _very_. The kid was more used to communication via emotions, pressing wants and desires against Din's thoughts. Handy, yes, to know the kid was whimpering from hunger and not fear, or wanted more paterstrips rather than mashed pelle fruit and would smear the latter on Din's _beskar_ if forced upon him one more time. But whether telepathic bonds were considered 'language' within the boundaries of the _Resol'nare..._ it probably skirted a line.

Hence, the flash cards.

"Okay, kid. _Ad. Ad._ kid. That's you. You're _ad_."

"aaaazs," the kid blew a spit bubble. Behind him, Paz Vizla's looming presence radiated amusement.

"Good," Din sighed again, more irritated with the other Mandalorian than the kid's progress. He'd had to borrow these cards from the older _vod_ and suffered his _interest_ in the proceedings as a side effect. " _Ad_." He switched the flash cards. "This is _buir._ Can you say _buir?_ "

"Brrrm," the kid burbled.

Paz chuckled.

"Look, are you just gonna stand there and loom or are you going to be useful?" Din snapped, bucket snapping sharply over his shoulder, visor glinting in the light. "If you don't like how I'm doing this, you're welcome to try."

"Considering I've raised a few more _ad'ika_ than you, I'd definitely be better at it," Paz boasted, and all but shoved Din out of the way.

Din entertained a brief thought of punching him in the temple, before reminding himself it would hurt Din worse to break bones on the _beskar_ than rattle what little brains Paz possessed.

Instead, he handed over the flash cards and reached for the kid, settling him in his lap to face the other Mandalorian.

"Okay Vizla. I'm waiting to be impressed."

Paz's shoulders rolled in a smug gesture and he held up a card.

"Okay _ad'ika,_ this one is easy. _ba'vodu. Bah-vod-oo._ "

"How is this any different to what I was doing?" Din muttered furiously, as the kid stared at his new teacher with wide dark eyes. Around sucking a mouthful of paw, his tiny mouth mumbled. "Baa-rrm."

"No, come on, out of your mouth. Say it strong. Bah-vod-oo."

"Baaa-ooo."

Din smirked. "Not so easy?"

Paz's helmet twitched as he ignored him. "Okay, try _beskar'gam._ "

"Beessm."

It was Din's turn to feel a stirring of amusement.

Emboldened by the sensation from his guardian, the kid's ears perked up, and he repeated, "Bessm! Bessm!"

"That's right, kid, _beskar'gam!_ "

"Paz," Din said, while the kid was still happily humming " _Bessm_ " to himself, patting tiny claws on Din's arm. "I don't think that's _beskar'gam._ "

"Of course it is," the other Mandalorian scoffed.

The kid's voice, already high with youth, hit a higher shriek that whited out the receivers in both their comm lines with static. "Beeeeeesm!"

Din cracked up laughing. It only vitalized the little womp rat, who shrieked with delight and repeated himself, at _length_.

This was probably _not_ the way to encourage good behavior.

Another of the covert poked their helm into the room in bafflement. "Who the hell is swearing so damn loud?" - and then visibly balked when the kid shrieked again, a hand going to their ear as static fritzed.

" _Besom_!" the kid shrilled happily, slamming his hands on Din's vambrace like a drum. _"_ Baaaa vod ooooo Beesooom!"

Din _howled_ , even as Paz straightened up with shock and then cringed under the force of their investigator's glare, felt even through the blank mask of their helm.

"I'm completely blaming _you_ for this," the other Mandalorian hissed at Din, who was giggling too much to do more than throw a rude hand-sign at the man in response. He got to his feet and stomped out of the room.

 _"raaaayt Baaa'vod-soom!"_ The kid called after him, and squirmed in Din's lap, craning his head back to stare up at Din in wonder, that the man was still laughing. _"Baaa. Baa'eer. Baaeer"_ The tap of paws on _beskar_ was more concerned now.

Of course. He'd never heard his guardian laugh so much before.

Din made his best effort to reign in, breath hitching as he settled his amusement back to manageable levels, and patted the kid on the head, smoothing down wispy hair. "Did good, _ner'_ _ad'ika._ "

"Aaa," the kid cooed, and held up his hands to latch onto Din's chestplate. " _Aaa buir._ "

The word, as pronounced and clear as it could be and surrounded by the feeling of _warm content happy_ brushing the Mandalorian's mind, sent Din's chest aching, and he tucked the kid closer.

"That's right," he muttered, bouncing the kid gently in his arm. "I'm your _buir._ " He picked up the flash cards abandoned on the table, and tucked them into a pocket.

That was probably enough language lessons for today.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Other Mando'a:  
> Manda sa'ad - adopted to Mandalore (from gai sa'ad, my child, part of the adoption vow)  
> Buir - parent  
> Ba'vodu - uncle  
> ad - kid  
> ad'ika - little kid  
> beskar - Mandalorian iron  
> beskar'gam - armor made from beskar  
> resol'nare - the tenants of being Mandalorian  
> besom - ill-mannered lout  
> Ret' - bye, see you (Ret ba'vodu besom = bye uncle lout!)  
> ner'ad'ika - my little kid
> 
> Is your heart bleeding from the cute yet? Mine is.


	4. Aliit t'ad (Clan of two)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alternate take on the Tunnel scene of episode 8.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CoffeeQuill challenged me to Angst b/c they posted Fluff. So have some angst.  
> (insert Anakin gif: dragging body from lava river, screaming 'I HATE YOU', no srsly angst is hard on the fly whyyyyy)
> 
> Well, really, it's more hurt/comfort, b/c angst for angst's sake is too rude.  
> ....and now I'm wondering if there's just too much comfort and it is actually now comfort fluff.  
> Damn.
> 
> Minor spoilers for episode 8 - and then I throw all of canon out the window. The rest of it doesn't exactly mesh with the timeline I've built. (Also fun fact the only scene I saw of this episode before writing it was the scene I reference, b/c I needed a specific piece of info.)
> 
> Also I tried to return to Present Time and tie this to something they were doing Now but I just couldn't manage it. So...uh...I guess there may be more angst in the future. (damnit.)

His head was pounding, the sting of salted blood and sweat clinging to the wounds the bacta hadn't yet resolved, trapped against his skin. But nothing compared to the pounding of his heart as he stepped forward, footfalls silent, and sank to his knees

It protested the movement, sent a slice of pain up his leg and into his back.

Ignored, as he reached a hand forth, and gently exhumed the cracked visor of a helm from the _pile_ heaped before him.

Too small for an adult. Not one he recognised. Not personally. But a Foundling's _buy'ce._ Discarded in irreverence like so much trash.

The damaged visor creaked under the clench of his grip.

The red haze that descended on him would've consumed Din, and possibly ended Karga's life, if not for the interruption of the Armorer.

For her words that brought both despair and relief, that all was not lost and yet _so much_ -

It took Din a moment, clawing himself back to rationality, to realise his breaths were audible in the silence of the room - not a tomb. There were no bodies. The Armorer was right in that the _beskar_ needed salvage. But the armor stacked like kindling for the flame was like a mass grave all the same. He shuddered, and followed the Armorer to the smith.

"I need to stay, to heal, to _help-_ "

"No." The Armorer's tone was stern. "You have a foundling in your care. By Creed, until it is of age or reunited with its kind, you are as its father."

The look between Cara and Greef did not go unnoticed. Din sucked in a breath to argue. But the Armorer pinned him with a tilt of her helm, as lancing as a vibroblade. _"Ibic Mand'ara cuyir."_

"This is the way," Din echoed, a whisper in Basic, the fight punched out of him.

"Buuu," the Child whimpered quietly, from his safety harness on IG-11's casing, stretching out a tiny paw.

Concern, or seeking comfort.

He couldn't reach back. Couldn't allow himself that weakness in this moment, in this place. But he breathed in - exhaled, slotting himself back into place. Back into control.

The Armorer watched this, the shift of his posture, the gaze of the child, and her helm gained a new angle, calculating. " _[You already knew this to be so.]_ "

" _[I did.]_ " Had known, since he whispered those words over the child's brow and claimed him as _ner'ad._

_"[You have spoken the vows.]"_

_"[I have.]"_

The incline of her head was approving and proud, and she turned away, lifting something from her workstation that glinted silver in the light of the forge.

There was not a tremor to be had in his frame as she sealed the signet of the mudhorn to his pauldron, and clasped his shoulder beneath her palm.

" _[You are a clan of two,]_ " she spoke, the Mando'a as precise and intent as anything she did, mindful of the outsiders in their midst. " _[But Mandalore is eternal. This is the Way.]_ "

Throat tight, he could only bow his head in respect, in honor to the clan-mother, guardian of the forge.

" _K'oyacyi_ ," she said, aloud and for all benefit. "Go well. Perhaps, in time, we will meet again."

 _"K'oyacyi,"_ Din returned, and clasped her arm to wrist. They _would_ meet again - be it in time, or on the great march beyond. _"Oya Mandalore."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mando'a Translations  
> buy'ce - helmet  
> ner'ad - my child  
> K'oyacyi - stay alive
> 
> Honestly, rewatch the scene in the tunnels with the armorer - the Armorer NEVER ACTUALLY SAYS the words 'they were all killed.' Specifically, she says: the imperials invaded, *some* Mandos may have escaped (no specific number), and she is staying to salvage the beskar.
> 
> Entertain the mental image of a bunch of stripped-down Mandalorians piling their armor in a heap as a decoy and fleeing in their skivvies and under-helmet balaclava like a bunch of frat pledges in a college movie. 
> 
> It probably didn't happen that way.  
> But it should still be enjoyed.
> 
> (Also why are balaclava and baklava spelled so similarly, now I'm picturing the same scene but with cake-smeared mandos and I c a n t br EA Th)


	5. Mandokar (the spirit of manda)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The armorer thought the kid was weak. That nothing would come well of training.
> 
> Din comes to realise otherwise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My angst wasn't angsty enough, apparently. Take two?
> 
> Shoutout to Iris_Duncan_72 who picked this prompt out of my list of Many, Many plot ideas to post first.

He didn't cry.

That was, perhaps, the worst of it.

The quiet.

Tiny limbs trembled beneath Din's fingers as the Mandalorian worked, but no matter how gentle his touch, he knew he was causing pain. He could feel it, every spike and slice of fresh discomfort, radiating from the life form in his care. Green ears pinned back tight, dark eyes wide and glazed, pupils all but pinpricks of distress.

But the kid didn't cry.

"Hush, _ad'ika_ , almost done," Din soothed, wrapping bacta and bandages over broken bone. "Almost done. _Ni ceta_ , you're doing so well."

_Hurts Buir_

"I know," Din said, answering the unspoken feeling, as phantom ache lanced up his own arm. He grit his teeth, taking a moment to breathe, until _pain_ had faded to the background of _apologysorrowloveyoulove._ Into its place fell a curtain of dulled awareness; that odd, tight not-quite-pressure he’d come to realise as the kid drawing back from what had become an almost-constant presence in Din’s mind, shielding his parent from the worst of the feedback.

But the kid himself was silent. Not a whimper or tear shed aloud.

Din kept his mind carefully blank. Didn’t dare think of how this had happened. Didn’t let himself dwell on the panic or the anger that had gripped him when he’d found the kid, battered and broken in the hands of their enemy.

If he let himself _think._ If he let himself _dwell,_ to _remember_ the way the kid had reached for him, the blood of others smeared gruesome over pallid green skin - he would fall again into _B’cabur A’den,_ the Guardian’s Wrath, that red haze of nothing so kind as _compassion_.

There was a _reason_ for Mandalorian reputation, why to the Galaxy at large they were ruthless, unforgiving, and unstoppable. What the Galaxy could never quite grasp was the _purpose_ that drove them. For the _Mando’ade,_ honor was important...but their _Aliit_ was all.

A parent would do anything for their children.

But here, now, Din couldn’t think of the circumstances, because when the last enemy had fallen and he had turned, mind cloaked in the rage of _protect avenge protect_ \- the kid had flinched from him, and made not a sound. Eyes wide, full of pain.

Full of _fear._

The fear was gone, now, as Din blanked his mind, wrapping the last of the deeper injuries inflicted, and moving to the lesser wounds. The cuts and scrapes ignored until now in favor of bigger hurts, now soothed by the numb chill of bacta at work.

The kid cringed and scrubbed a paw over one squinted eye, as saline was dabbed against the abrasions on his brow, and made a quiet sound.

Just the barest whine.

The first, since Din had found him.

Bourne of pain as it was, it should not have brought relief to the Mando's heart, and yet he breathed out, slow and soft, shoulders slumping. It wasn't natural, that silence. Not since the kid had tucked tiny talons against his breastplate and murmured his first words in Mando'a-

(" _Buir, pel, nuhoy_ ," had been the words, and it had taken every ounce of Din's training not to break into tears, because it had come on a wave of _soft-sleepy-_ _contentment-love_ that would've cut his knees from under him had he not already been reclined in the captain's chair, trying to get some shut-eye between planetfalls.)

(Din hasn't felt that kind of peace since - _the memory grows hazy by the years, soft hands in his hair and floral scent and mama, I had a dream, shush, sleep baby, i'm here-_ )

-and the kid had barely shut up since then, babbling in voice and mind over whatever new interest caught his eye. Until now.

 _Discontent-irritation_ brushed the human’s mind, accompanied by the wrinkle of the kid’s pudge nose, and Din huffed a soft amusement.

“Not a peep with the broken arm, but it’s the tarmac burn that gets you,” he teased gently, and pet soothing fingers over the kid’s more uninjured skin. “You’ve got real _mandokar_ in your veins, you do.”

His kid caught the pink-tinged cloth in taloned fingers and pulled Din’s hand down. Dark eyes gazed up at him. The pain had faded. The _fear_ had vanished, replaced by trust. Deep and unyielding, unshaken for so long now.

_You want me to train him?_ _  
__No. It is too weak. It would not survive._

The _Nau’ur kad’alor_ had spoken. But the covert on Nevarro had disbanded, and Din wore the mudhorn's signet alone.

She was...no longer his clan.

“I think, _ad’ika,_ ” Din spoke, in the echoing silence of the Razor Crest’s bay, straightening to stand with the kid nestled in his arm, talons scraping gently against _beskar,_ “that it’s time we got you some armor.”

The wide eyes and gentle, interested _coo_ of wonder was all Din needed to know his choice was sound.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mando'a Translations  
> ni ceta - I'm sorry (heartfelt and earnest)  
> b'cabur a'den - The Guardian's Wrath, describing the protective fury of a parent for their child, where you lose all sense of ration until they are safe.  
> mando'ade - children of mandalore  
> aliit - family  
> buir, pel, nuhoy - parent, soft, sleep  
> mandokar - the *right stuff*, the epitome of Mando virtue - a blend of aggression, tenacity, loyalty and a lust for life  
> nau'ur kad'alor - nau'ur kad is 'forge' and 'alor' is leader, so forge-leader, aka Armorer.


	6. Vercopa (Dream)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Unvoiced fears and spicy food lead Din down a dark path in the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I posted angst 5 minutes ago and then keymashed this piece of CRACK because I couldn't stand it.
> 
> Don't forget to go back and read chapter 5!
> 
> From a comment I made:  
> "Mandalorians revealed: BIG BAD MANLY LUMBERJACK WARRIORS - who are the ultimate spontaneous Parents. The more beskar you wear, the more you want to collect all the kids under your armor wings. It's like a bowerbird building a dance nest to prove they're providers. Only Other Mandalorians Understand This. (and then get confused by the rest of the universe's reaction.)"

The Armorer banged her forging tongs on the table before them.

“This Meeting Of Mandalorians Anonymous Will Now Come To Order!”

She pointed her tongs authoritatively forward. An inch from the end of the tool, the Child of Din’s care blinked and cooed, ears twitching, seated in the center of the table on the sigil of the Great Mythosaur.

“Dyn Jarren, You Put Forth The Claim For This Foundling! This Is The Way! But You Must Prove Yourself Worthy Of Becoming Caretaker!”

Din Djarin cringed where he stood, feeling small among the other Mandalorians. His armor was shiny and new and had very few special things added to it. Others had much prettier, much more adorned armor. It made him worried.

“I can care for the Child! It was I who slayed the Mudhorn which endangered its life, using only my armor of before! I am worthy!”

“FALSEHOODS!” boomed Paz Vizla, his voice like thunder. Din turned to watch the bigger Mandalorian stomp into the room, and trembled his knees. He was big, and his armor massive; the door _stretched_ to fit him through. What appeared to be a pair of E-Web cannons were perched on each of his shoulders. “I AM MORE ABLE TO PROTECT THE CHILD. I HAVE PROTECTED MANY FOUNDLINGS WITH MY ARMOR.”

“Paz, why are you wearing a tank,” Din stammered, but the Child oohed and aahed at the huge guns and the scuffed, well-worn armor, clearly evidenced as to Paz’s ability to protect children like itself. Din watched in horror as the Child reached for Paz and ignored him, his finder, dressed in shiny, new armor that did not tell his story.

“VERILY, THE CHILD HAS CHOSEN!” Paz exalted, lifting the Child high. “WE SHALL SING THE SONGS OF MANDALORE.”

The Mandalorians (except for Din who had not been chosen and who was very sad and sobbing into his vambrace) around the room hopped up on the table and linked arms, doing a high-step-kick dance to the lyrics of “WE’RE MANLY MEN, WE’RE MEN IN BES-KAR, FOUND-LINGS ARE-OUR-WAAAAAY-”

The Armorer provided percussion on her forge.

“ _GYAH_!”

Din bolted upright, gasping for breath, his eyes cast in pitch darkness. With a shaking hand he reached over and switched on the overhead light above his head, and ran a hand through sweat-soaked hair.

Tucked at his side, his kid made a bleary, questioning sound and clutched Din’s sleep clothes in tugging talons. His tiny face expressed the bewildered startlement of one who was woken out of a deep sleep, by someone _else’s_ unwarranted hysterics.

“ _Osi’kyr_ ,” Din swore in a groan, and scrubbed his face. “No more spiced paterstrips before bed, okay?”

“Okay is, _buir,_ ” the kid patted him on the hand with the intense focus of the very young doing an Important Task, and then re-tucked himself back against Din’s ribs. He was asleep within moments.

Din laid a hand on the child’s back, and sighed, a heavy heave of breath that cleansed the tension from his frame and stilled the tremor of his limbs, flopping back down on the padding and staring up at the hood of the Razor Crest’s sleeping berth.

“Paz’ _di’kut shabuir._ ” he muttered, closing his eyes, and tried to banish the image of Paz doing high kicks in a Vizla-tartan kilt _and nothing else_ out of his mind.

Sleep was a long time returning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> /lovingly adds *crack* to the list of tags
> 
> No Mando'a translations for this chapter b/c I feel it is Obvious what is said.
> 
> For improved visual effect: imagine dream!Paz as if he were drawn like 90's Rob Liefeld Captain America comics.


	7. Beskar (Mandalorian Iron)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Getting armor for his _ad_ is easier promised than done. Din is nothing if not stubborn, though.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is for @blackglass who podficced chapter 1 and made me squeal in a library. Some dialogue influence from another Mando fic on Ao3 which had an unusual cadence to the words used. As a result Din turns out a bit more wordy than usual here.
> 
> Another Cameo for our beloved Corin (whose stories, admittedly, I haven't kept up with fully, so probably now wildly off-canon from his source material.)
> 
> Fun fact: this was supposed to be 'Din takes his shirt off and does blacksmithy things like Tony Stark in Iron Man while Corin and/or Cara sit by with popcorn and T H I R S T' but I...did not....manage that...at ALL. Maybe next time.

Silence reigned in the wake of words spoken, but Din could not take them back.

“ _Reunited with its kind_ , you were told.”

Age had not withered the power of the _Nau’ur kad’Alor_ of Din’s tribe, nor made her gaze less piercing, as she stared him down over the table of trades. Hands fisted on his knees, Din remained knelt before her, and did not fidget, though the desire was strong.

“Instead, you come to my forge and you ask _much_ , _Mando’ade.”_

His tongue tripped over unfamiliar words, the _Mando’a_ on his lips a more polished dialect than he’d ever spoken. But Din’s stance was unwavering.

“I do not take back what I have spoken. My request is true and sincere, _Alor.”_ A breath. “Will you hear my words?”

“...I can see this means much to you,” the armourer stated, after a pause. “Speak. What is your reasoning to ask this of the forge?”

“He _is_ with his kind, _Alor._ By name I recognise him as _ner’ad,_ by Creed he is Found. I have taught him our tongue, our ways; he has hunted well, the enemies of Mandalore.”

The Armourer looked skeptically down at the child, who had grown, but barely so, reaching his _buir’s_ knee rather than halfway up his shin. The child fidgeted under her gaze, but did not look away; merely adjusted more stiffly in a mimicry of his caretaker’s overly-formal pose.

“And he is of age,” Din added, wry. “By Creed any foundling may swear to the code at their majority. By the tenants of the _Resol’nare,_ he is _Mando’ade_ in all but vow.”

The armourer let out a sigh, frustrated. “To train him, you were explicitly warned against. Why break your _Alor’s_ command?”

Din drew on the last of his _gett’se_ with a steady inhale, and spoke. “Because I recognised the word of my _Alor_ was wrong.”

At that, the armourer’s helm snapped up. The child at his side let out a sound of quiet shock, ears pinning down as he too looked sharply up at his parent.

“ _Ner’ad_ has strength within that was expressed from the moment I met him,” the once-lone bounty hunter proclaimed quietly. “It was his strength that allowed me victory over the mudhorn whose signet my clan bears. Only his lacking in control, and practice, kept him from his potential then.” His voice didn’t falter once. “That experience he has gained since, through adversity and victory and honor. _Mando’karla_ I recognise in him, and so this boon, I ask of you, _Nau’ur kad’Alor_.” He paused, and then straightened, reaching up a hand to touch his cuirass. “Even if my _own armor_ must be used in the forging of his _beskar’gam_.”

The armourer considered the Mandalorian before her, and then his child, with a slow tilt of her helm. Then she turned away, a seemingly casual dismissal to any who did not know her.

“The foundlings are the future of the tribe,” she at last spoke, and Din tensed, expectant, because that was not a _no_ \- “As it should always be. This is the Way.”

“This is the Way,” Din echoed, relief in his voice. “You will grant my request?”

The armourer hummed thoughtfully. “Your offer of sacrifice does you great honor, _Mando’ade._ Your request I will grant.”

The confirmation lanced relief, tension bleeding from Din’s posture. He reaffirmed it quickly, kowtowing in deep respect to his clan leader.

“ _Vor entye, Alor._ ”

“We have some _beskar_ set aside for the Foundlings, of course. It will suffice, in addition to your contribution, to forge a full _beskar’gam_ for one of his size. However-” Din looked up at the caution in her tone. “I do not have molds prepared for such a task. It will take many days to create such for the forging.”

He shared a glance with his _ad._ They would have to come back, if that was the case. Still, Din reaffirmed his posture of deference and nodded his helm.

“Understood, _Alor,_ we can-”

“Create them yourself, you will.”

“- ex-excuse me?”

The cant of the armourer’s t-visor was one of amusement. “If you are so determined to see your child in beskar, _Din Djarin_ , you will learn the forge, and shape the beskar of your own hand. For the future of the tribe is the Foundlings, and their protection belongs to those who sought them. This is the Way.”

“This is the Way,” Din echoed blankly in shock, as the kid stifled a grin behind his claws, eyes bright. “But... _Nau’ur kad’Alor, ni gedetir_ \- I don’t know _how_ to forge.”

“Then you will learn,” she told him decisively, and turned away, a true dismissal this time. “Return at first light. There is much to be done.”

“...A-as you command, _Alor._ ”

Din waited until she had left the room before letting his shoulders sag, exhaling a sigh that crackled through his helmet receivers.

“ _Nau’d’lor_ made trick,” The child by him piped up, high and bright with youth, revealing his sharp-toothed grin as he tugged Din’s shin-guard. “She is funny she is. I like, _ner’buir._ ”

“Of course you do,” Din sighed, as the kid laughed. “You picked up your sense of humor from Dune and Karga.” Sithspit. What was he going to tell his shipmates? Their stop off on Batuu to meet with the tribe’s new covert was meant to be in-and-out, a quick request of the armourer that would take maybe a day. But if the _Alor_ was insistent Din learn to craft _beskar himself_ \- the Mandalorian knelt down, placing himself eye to eye with his adopted son, a gloved hand on the child’s shoulder.

“This is something I desire for you, _ner’ad_. But it is _your_ choice. And if you choose this path, it will take time, and patience. We could not leave this place for weeks, perhaps months. It may not be safe for the others to remain. But, if this is something you truly want, I will follow you.”

The child’s eyes, as deep and dark as ever, glistened as he reached out his small paws to press against his _buir’s_ helm. A burst of image-song splashed _love-trust confident!_ over the surface of Din’s mind as the child beamed. “Worry too much _Buir,_ okay we be. And _Bavodu’e_ will know us, they will. You see. This I want.”

The off-kilter cadence of the kid’s speech was something Din had struggled with, in the beginning, before realising it mirrored the discordant scattershot of the telempathic communication his son’s species was prone to use. Now it was familiar enough to understand, and to feel, backed up by the emotion broadcasted against his mind. Behind his mask, Din smiled, and he tilted his head to meet the kid’s brow. “ _Ner’ad,_ you’re wiser than me to be so confident.”

“ _You see_ ,” the kid insisted, and patted his claws against the beskar with a pulse of _impish-clever-amusement._ “Okay we be! _Ib'tuur jatne tuur ash'ad kyr'amur_. But we tell Corin’ _buir,_ we stay longer? _Nakar’mir!_ ”

At that, Din groaned, because _kriff._ Corin hated desert planets. Moreso now that the former stormtrooper had taken his own vows to the Creed, and wore his hard-earned _beskar_ with reverent pride - and yet no small amount of grumbling that it was never _quite_ as functional as his old Imperial duraplast at temperature regulation.

“If _Corin’buir_ was the one who taught you that phrase, he can suck it up and deal with it,” he told the kid, who laughed and hooked his claws into Din’s pauldron, scrambling up onto his father’s shoulders as the man stood. Practice had the Mandalorian bear the weight with ease. “What say we hunt up some dinner on this backwater and maybe we’ll be forgiven when we deliver the news.”

“Oya!” the kid chirped, and then patted his paws on Din’s helmet with a worried hum. “ _Buir_ , will be okay giving up armor? Small I am, need not all. Could fit in your helmet I could!”

At that, the Mandalorian chuckled, wistfully remembering a time when they had done just that; the cargo bay of the Razor Crest filled with hearty laughter as the toddling child bumped around blindly, all but swallowed beneath his father’s _buy’ce_.

“It is The Way to reserve _beskar_ for the foundlings of the tribe, _ad’ika_ ,” he reassured instead, tilting his head to bring his son’s face into view. “She-who-commands-the-forge will not ask me to sacrifice my entire _beskar’gam._ But what I will sacrifice, I do so willingly.” The kid’s eyes widened in wonder. “It is my duty to protect you, so sworn. I will earn it back with pride, knowing you are safe.”

The smaller being crooned, wordless _worry-love-anxiety_ rubbing like a Loth-cat around Din’s mind, all fuzzy and warm with affection. After a few moments, tiny talons ticked against his pauldron, the left one, the one not marked by their clan signet. “You use this,” the child declared. “Give horn-sign-crest. Then we will all match, then, we do.”

“Wouldn’t that be something,” Din murmured, and with a hidden grin reached up to pull the kid off his shoulders, swinging him down under an arm like a bag of grain to the kid’s delighted squeals. “Come on, you little whomp rat. Bet I can bag more frogs than you.”

“ _Buir jahaatir_!” The foundling cried in dismay, and kicked his little legs. “I hunt frogs best I do!”

The Mandalorian laughed.

“Back so soon?” Corin peered at them over the campfire that illuminated the clearing they’d parked the ship, firelight reflected in his visor. “How did it go with the armourer?”

Din dropped the kid on the rock next to his _vod_ , along with the bag of supplies, and knocked his knuckles against the other Mandalorian’s helmet. “Talk to the brat for the details. I gotta get some shut-eye.”

Corin’s helmet jerked in a manner suggesting startlement. “Wait, what? What happened?”

“Nothing!” Din called over his shoulder, already halfway up the Razor Crest’s ramp. “Apparently I’m due lessons in smithery at first light. Goodnight!”

Corin blinked, and turned to stare at their young ward, who had already dug a dazed amphibian out of the soggy satchel and was halfway through choking it down. “Do I _want_ to know?”

The kid swallowed his catch and beamed brightly, _amusement-satisfaction_ warm like the flames that lit his dark eyes. “ _Nau’ur kad’Alor_ tricked _buir_ she did. Agreed to _bes-kar,_ is good. Good good, yes. But _buir_ is told, _vod ba’jurir nau’ur kad._ ” He patted Corin’s hand absently with a paw, the other rooting around for another poor amphibian - which he held up for Corin. “Corin- _buir_ want?”

“Uh, no, buddy. I’m good. You enjoy that frog,” Corin said hastily, and glanced back at the ship, still confused. “Does that mean we’re _staying_ on Batuu?”

The kid only giggled, high and bright, and gulped down the frog.

Corin sighed, and resigned himself to another night digging sand out of his vambraces. Surely they wouldn’t be there for more than a few days…

_(“What do you mean weeks!” He cried, as Din strapped into his armor and hefted a carry-bag over his shoulder. “This was supposed to be a short hop!”_

_“What can I tell you,_ vod _,” Din said with the shrug of a man resigned to his fate. “I was given strict instructions, or else no_ beskar’gam _for the sprout. You don’t argue with the armourer. This is the Way.”_

_“But…” Corin gaped after Din as the man clapped him on the shoulder and walked down the ramp of the Razor Crest, the kid clinging to his pauldron. “But...” He stood helplessly at the top, before scrambling to catch up to his clan._

_“But, you argue with the armourer_ all the time!” _)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heckuva lotta Mandoa:  
> Nau'ur kad'Alor - Forge-leader  
> Mando'ade - children of mandalore  
> ner'ad - my child  
> resol'nare - tenants of mandalorian culture  
> gett'se - courage  
> mando'karla - having the right stuff to be mandalorian  
> vor entye - thank you (lit: I accept a debt)  
> beskar / beskar'gam - iron / mandalorian armor  
> ni gedetir - I plead/beg  
> Nau'd'lor - child's truntication of Nau'ur kad'Alor  
> ner'buir - my parent  
> Ib'tuur jatne tuur ash'ad kyr'amur - Today is a good day for someone else to die (probably not a phrase a kid should know lol)  
> Nakar'mir - uncertain/not know (in this case, calling 'not it!')  
> buy'ce - helmet  
> Buir jahaatir - dad, stop lying!  
> Vod ba'jurir nau'ur kad - Din must learn the forge
> 
> Phew!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Mando'ika ad (the littlest Mandalorian) [Podfic]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22819120) by [blackglass](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackglass/pseuds/blackglass)




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